


Aftershocks

by undermounts



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Apprentice - Freeform, Book XIII: Death (The Arcana), Book XIII: Death (The Arcana) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Coping, Death, F/M, Gen, Loss, Plague, The Arcana pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undermounts/pseuds/undermounts
Summary: Julian learns what it means to lose the one you love.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Guilt

“Cassandra!” Julian sang, his voice far too cheerful for a wretched place like the plague research room. He wound his way through the dimly lit room, bumping his narrow hips into table corners and sending papers to flutter to the ground. “I think I’ve figured it out! The cure!”

Julian stopped before her door, tucking a glass jar into the crook of his elbow as he opened the door to his apprentice’s office. “I know it seems ridiculous, but hear me out,” Julian grinned, brandishing the jar with a flourish. Inside sat a single, black leech. “ _Leeches_.”

But his apprentice didn’t look up. Cassandra was slumped over her desk, her bluish curls spilling out of the bun she kept it in while researching. Papers were scattered across the wooden surface and a personal journal lay open beneath her hand.

“Cassandra?” Julian edged closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was completely still. Sleeping. Julian’s eye roamed over the desk, observing some of her notes or accounts of their patients’ behavior. As his eyes slid across the journal, his heart stuttered, a few words standing out.

 _Asra._ Asra, the magician? _His_ Asra? No, not his. Not anymore. Perhaps he never was… How did Cassandra know him?

 _Julian._ That was him. His cheeks flushed a little. Journals were private things, weren’t they? Meant for thoughts and emotions. He was a little flattered to have appeared in one of her entries and was even a little intrigued to read on. Perhaps the journal would reveal if the feelings he had begun to develop were not unrequited…

No, that was private. Julian shook his head and began to avert his eyes. Ilya was a lot of things, but he wasn’t going to be a snoop. He had learned his lesson about boundaries from Asra and maybe a little more from Pasha. Younger sisters practically _demanded_ boundaries and privacy, especially from teasing brothers like him.

But as Julian began to turn away, deciding to come back when Cassandra had woken from her slumber–she was always tired nowadays, working just as hard to help their patients and find a cure–and she definitely needed the rest, his attention caught on a few more words.

_I’m sorry._

Sorry? Who was she apologizing to? Cassandra was one of the most empathetic people he knew, not only dedicated to finding the cure and ending the endless sorrow, but focused on truly helping the people, even if all she could do was soothe their suffering with her magic for the time being. She didn’t feel guilty for not finding the cure, did she?

Well that would make both of them.

As Julian looked a little closer–he wasn’t snooping, merely checking to see if he would have to have a talk and reassure her later–he realized that her apology wasn’t written once, but numerous times, her handwriting growing more frantic and sloppy as it progressed. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._ The words were practically bleeding with emotion. Towards the end, some of the ink had become smudge with something wet. Droplets of water? No, _tears_.

Julian’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. He had only seen Cassandra cry once, the first time one of her patients passed from the plague. Although each death wore heavily on her, she refused to cry again. She needed to be strong, she had told him when he asked her why.

 _But you don’t always have to be okay_ , _Cassandra_ , Julian had said gently in return, squeezing her hand reassuringly. _Sometimes being…unokay with things is the strongest thing you can do._

He knew from experience. Not that he really listened to his own advice, but…

Julian pushed those thoughts away and focused on the nagging feeling of unease that was twisting in his stomach. _Something is wrong,_ he thought again. _Something is very, very wrong_.

“Cassandra?” he whispered softly, gently shaking her shoulder to rouse her from her sleep. “Wake up, Cassie. Talk to me.”

She didn’t move.

“Cassandra.” Julian said, more firmly this time as he tried to wrestle the nerves that were beginning to form. “Wake _up_.”

“Julian?” she mumbled into her arm, her voice thick and hoarse. She’d been crying.

“I’m here. Come on, upsy daisy. We should talk–”

Cassandra rose her head, blinking her bleary eyes up at him. They were red. But not from crying.

Julian stumbled back with a short cry, his feet tripping over themselves and sending him tumbling into her cot. “ _No_. Please no, not you.”

Cassandra’s expression shifted, slackening as the dreariness of sleep gave way to remembrance. She glanced down at her journal, horror on her face. Julian’s heart plummeted to his stomach. This must have been what she was writing about. She had contracted the plague.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her golden eyes–now rimmed with a sickly scarlet–glistening. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Julian. I’m so sorry.”

Not even thinking, Julian stumbled forward to wrap his arms around her shaking body as she sobbed, apologizing over and over again. In that moment, he didn’t even care if he caught the plague. His apprentice was dying. _Cassandra_ was dying. And there was nothing he could do to save her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried, tears soaking the front of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s okay, Cassie,” Julian cooed, stroking her hair and pressing her tighter against him as he tried to fight back the prickling of tears behind his own eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.”

The signs were obvious. In the last few days, she was always tired. The circles under her eyes had darkened considerably. Her skin had paled slightly and her bones seemed more prominent. Her entire person had dulled in comparison to the vibrancy she usually carried. Cassandra, the single brightest point in the center of this dying city, was _dying_. Her light was being snuffed out right before his eyes, it _had_ been fading, and he hadn’t even noticed. And now it was too late.

Maybe if had just… _paid attention_ that would have been enough. He had been so caught up in his own research, he had hardly given her a moment of his time. Maybe if he had just paid attention, he could have seen the signs and taken her far far away, as if that would stop the plague from spreading through her veins. But he knew that wouldn’t have worked. Once you caught the plague, that was it. All he could do now… He squeezed his eyes shut, praying and holding her tighter. All he could do know was be there with her. Until the end.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassandra whispered one last time, hiccuping until she fell unconscious once again, exhausted and falling to the plague.

Only then, did Julian let himself cry. He bowed his head over her still form and sobbed, fingers twisting in the fabric of her clothing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, shaking hard. “I’m so sorry.”


	2. Pain

Cassandra fell fast.

Which Julian supposed he should have found comforting. For some, the plague took its time ravaging their bodies and playing with their minds. He didn’t know why it affected some differently than others, but he also didn’t know why the plague had come to Vesuvia, nor how to stop it.

These days, it seemed like there was a lot Julian didn’t know. And what he did know…well, it didn’t matter. Because it wouldn’t cure the sick and it couldn’t bring his apprentice–it couldn’t bring Cassandra back.

Julian received the notice only two days after they’d said their final goodbyes at the dock and the ferry took Cassandra away to be quarantined at the Lazaret.

Two days was merciful. It was too long. It was too short.

Julian didn’t know how to feel about those two days. Doubtless, they were two days of suffering. Alone. But at least she didn’t have to suffer as long as others had. Still, she deserved more than two days. Hell, he thought. Cassandra deserved an entire lifetime. One full of happiness and health and love.

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes and setting the note aside.

They all did. Everyone who fell to the plague deserved a full life. Julian was a plague doctor, he shouldn’t get so wound up over one life lost. He was used to death by now, but this… his hands still shook and his lip quivered.

_Oh, Cassandra._

Julian got to his feet, heart still heavy in his chest as he dragged himself out of the office. Across the clinic’s main room, a handful of his fellow doctors were entering and exiting one of the offices, putting trinkets in one box and research documents or journals in the another.

Julian’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized whose room they were swarming in an out of. His blood rose to his cheeks and the back of his neck and ears felt hot. Those weren’t their things to touch and rifle through. They had no right to touch what was _hers_ –

“Put that down!” he snapped at one doctor and snatching a journal out of the hands of another. “This stuff doesn’t belong to you, what are you _doing_ –”

“It’s been two days, Doctor 069. It was time to… _redecorate_. Out with the old, in with the new, they say.”

Julian spun on his heel, eyes widening as he took in his boss from the palace, Valdemar, their head tilted slightly to the side and red eyes flashing in amusement. “Quaestor, what are you doing here? The clinic… I–”

They ignored Julian, stepping around him to peer into Cassandra’s old room. It was practically empty now, her cot stripped of sheets and her desk nearly bare. “If we left the rooms of dead doctors or…apprentices, untouched, none of us would have any space at all, isn’t that right, Doctor?”

“I…of course,” Julian mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor. Valdemar’s red, catlike gaze always unnerved him, almost nearly as much as their razor sharp teeth, which were on full display amidst a patronizing smile.

“And I am here because I heard your dearly departed apprentice was assisting you in your quest to find the cure, no? I thought it best to move her notes and such to our room at the palace. After all, any research is helpful research, don’t you agree?” Valdemar tilted their head to the other side, eyes flicking down to the leather bound journal in Julian’s hand.

“Oh…” Julian brushed his fingers across the cover of it. This was Cassandra’s, a piece of her he had to part with. Was this the journal, he wondered, that he had glimpsed the insides of the night Cassandra had fallen ill? Memories flashed behind his eyes. His name, Asra’s name. The words “I’m sorry” written over and over again in her handwriting as it gradually turned to illegible scrawl and smudged with tears. He’d held her as she cried those very same words and promised that she had done nothing wrong. When she passed out from exhaustion and the plague, he’d finally broken down himself and echoed her own sobs.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Julian dropped his hand to his side and handed the journal back to the doctor he had taken from it.

“You got attached, Doctor 069,” Valdemar observed, inquisitive eyes giving him a look of appraisal. “Even though you know better than that. How curious… I’d like to know what goes on inside that head of yours. Perhaps one day, if you join your apprentice…hmm, how delightful it would be to open you up…”

“Uh, right.” Julian started backing away towards the lift. “I’m sure I would be an…excellent, ah, specimen. Yield a lot of, ah, valuable…information.”

“Indeed…”

Thoroughly unnerved and unable to be so near Cassandra’s room–which was no longer Cassandra’s room–without feeling a little weak in the knees, Julian turned away and slipped out of his clinic before the conversation, delightful as it was, could continue further. The moment Julian stepped outside and onto the narrow streets of Vesuvia, he slumped against the wall, the air rushing from his lungs.

Why had he reacted like that? He wasn’t a confrontational person, especially with the other doctors. The only person he really talked to at the clinic was Cassandra. Otherwise he kept to himself. Cassandra was gone, and he had to accept that. But even so, his heart felt heavier than it had any right being.

It wasn’t like they were _together_ or anything. She had only been his apprentice for a handful of months, but… Julian squeezed his eyes shut as the memories of her flashed behind his eyes. No, they weren’t together, but the moments they had shared…

Times were dark. The reality was this: everyone was dying and nobody knew how to stop it. But desperate times drew people together. Cassandra had been a beacon of light in a world of shadows and Julian had been drawn into her, like a moth to a flame. And for some reason, she had been drawn to him in that very same way. He found sanctuary in her embrace, joy in the curves of her smiles, and euphoria in the warmth of her skin.

Too many times, he had woken up in her cot, their bodies a tangled mass of limbs in a cramped space. But too many times was also not enough… When was the last time he had lain with her? Held her in his arms before she fell ill? He had retreated into his office at the palace and way from her touch, obsessed with finding the cure.

Julian choked down a sob. Why did it have to hurt so much?

He would never forgive himself for that.

The cart stocked with fruit jolted to a stop in front of him and Julian shoved those memories away as he politely waved away the fruit the vendor tried to sell him and walked down the dimly lit alleyway and onto a busier street that he knew would eventually lead to the docks. His footsteps echoed on the cobblestone as he yanked off his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his coat, his mind skimming through the day’s events.

“Oof!” Lost in thought, Julian was oblivious to his surroundings as he bounded down the steps to the lower half of Vesuvia and collided straight into another body. Julian reached out, clutching the stranger’s arms to prevent them both from toppling over. “Apologies, I wasn’t paying attention–Asra?”

The white-haired magician stood before him. “Ilya?”

Asra was always ethereal. Just a glimpse of his pearly curls or his bronze skin was enough to make Julian’s heart jump in his throat. But now, months after he had last seen him, he looked… terrible. Utterly distraught. His eyes were red, not from the plague, but from crying. “Asra, is everything, ah… Is everything alright?”

Asra blinked up at Julian, eyes still glazed over. But before Julian could speak again, Asra’s expression sharpened and his eyes narrowed. “ _You_!”

“Uh–”

Asra gripped the front of Julian’s coat, yanking him forward with such ardor, Julian thought he was going to kiss him until he saw the bitterness in Asra’s eyes. “You were supposed to keep her safe! The plague–she wasn’t supposed to _die_!”

Julian stumbled back, hands flying to Asra’s wrists to pry his hand away when he noticed his fingertips were scraped raw and his nails were caked with blood. “Asra, your hands! What did you…”

“The Lazaret, Ilya! I found her there. She should have never–” Asra broke off as a sob burst forth from his lips. “She should have never…never ended up there…alone.”

Asra took Julian by surprise once again as, instead of yelling at him even more, the young magician collapsed into his arms, burying his face in the fabric of his clothing as he shuddered, sobs wracking his body.

Julian listened, body rigid as he listened to Asra’s broken cries and tearful murmuring. Then, something clicked into place. A realization. Suddenly, it felt as if the wind had been knocked from his body by a flattening blow. His knees gave in and he dropped to the ground, Asra following him and still leaning into Julian’s shoulders.

 _Her notebook_ , Julian thought, the image of its pages and her handwriting flashing behind his eyes. _I’m sorry_ written over and over again. His own name. _Asra’s_.

“Cassandra,” Julian said mournfully and Asra’s nodded against him, fingers tightening their hold on him as a new wave of grief crashed over him.

“Ash and bones…” he sobbed and Julian felt the tension drain from his own body. He slumped against the steps, numbly holding Asra and rocking them, as if that would somehow heal the gaping wounds in their chests.

He knew Cassandra was dead. The report confirmed it. He had seen her off to the Lazaret, from which no one ever returned. He’d held her just as he held Asra now on the day the plague had marked her for its own;he’d seen her light dim, smelled the sickly sweetness of the infection on her breath, felt the life waning in her body as she cried. It had hurt, to know she dead. But knowing that all was left of her was ash and bone…that brought an entirely new kind of pain into his chest. It was excruciating.

“It’s all my fault,” Asra whispered, hiccuping now that his sobs had subsided. Tears still falling, he clutched Ilya tightly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let her go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Julian’s heart thumped painfully at those all too familiar words and he buried his face in Asra’s hair, tears falling into the white curls and glittering like refracted starlight.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. He was a doctor, but he couldn’t save anyone. He couldn’t stop the agonizing pain, not for Asra, and not for himself. He couldn’t heal their wounded hearts.

Desperately, he wished he could relieve Asra of his pain and take it on for himself. _It’s too heavy_ , he thought, feeling Asra shudder against him. _Let me carry that for you. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. I’m tired of everyone hurting. Give it to me. I can handle it._

He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was keep the broken magician in his embrace and stroke his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered, voice cracking as he echoed his words, originally meant for yet another person in pain. “It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.”

Now Julian suddenly understood what it truly meant to lose the one you love.


End file.
